Fever!
by Megami no Inazumi
Summary: Twinfic. The Twins get landed with guard duty and one sick girl. Who will go insane first? rated for language
1. Twin Things

A/N: I've been sick for the past coupladays. Being a temporary invalid, I took it upon myself to write a story for sick people. There aren't enough of those, no way. Uhuh, no sirree. Anyways, it's not self-insertion… The only reason that it's another girl is because it would be pretty awkward if it was a guy. Yeah. Awkward… NOT THE POINT! The point is, I need a life. And some male chars. (I have plenty of them, but they aren't fanfiction) Whatever, whatever. Ignore the sick person please, just scroll down or something, because I will probably talk for hours bcuz I'm sick an' all. Just read the story…

D/C: like my dear friend the Orange of Doom has said. Only Smeagol or the owners themselves would presume to own the Matrix, and they wouldn't be writing fanfiction, would they?

Fever!

My name is Angelina Jolie.  
Not.  
I am sick. Really, really sick. I have strep throat, influenza, and I've swallowed a chicken bone. I haven't swallowed a chicken bone, but it feels like it. Breathing through my mouth hurts my poor throat, and my nose is so stuffy that I can't breathe. Thus my predicament. I can't talk, I can't breathe, and goodness knows I can't sleep. And to top it ALL off, I'm having women's problems. I'm in a really bitchy mood. Could you tell?

The name's Clarice. Put 'er there. I don't have time to make small talk though, I have to deal with the menagerie.

There are four dogs at my house. (I live in the American West, and unless you're in the heart of the city, you have a frontyard and a backyard.) In addition to that, there's two cats, a bird, and a mouse. We have peacocks and peahens running about the front yard. They're not ours; they belong to our loco neighbors. But for some odd reason, the twits think that our yard is the roost, so what can we do?

Occasionally, a peahen'll wind up on the roof or in the back yard. Peahens are ugly. They're vicious and ugly. Don't give them mirrors cuz I'll bet you that'll only make matters worse. Note: peahens and a zillion animals is not normal. Like I said before, we have loco neighbors. Our zillion animals is due mostly to the fact that my family is intent on being kind hearted. If my poor father sees an animal, he has to have one. Which translates into poor Clarice.

As I've said, I'm sick as a dog and I just got a call from my dad few minutes ago. 'Go feed the pets,' he said. 'Go pet the dogs,' he said. I don't want to move. I feel like hammered dog poo. Whatever that means.

Anyways, poor sick Clarice has to climb out of her nice warm bed and go check on the animals. Not that I hate them or anything, but they can be a nuisance. Except my kitty. She never does a thing wrong.  
~@~  
Clarice woke up with cramps in her groin and throat. Her nose was so stuffed up she couldn't clear it with mere sniffling. Her eyes were bloodshot, and, in her own words, her throat felt like a bloody lump. She stumbled out of bed a few hours later and checked on her family's various pets. She promptly returned to the room and spent several hours on the internet doing sod-all, diddlysquat. Of course, to her it felt like her life's work, surfing through various sites as per her addiction to DSL. Or was it LSD?

Whatever her addiction was, she was more than annoyed to hear her first the outdoor dogs and then the indoor dogs, barking wildly. Two beeps alerted her to an opened door and two more to a closed one. The indoor dogs fell into even more of a frenzy, but went silent with whines. This was absolutely not natural.

Cursing, Clarice tumbled out of her room, her eyes bloodshot and flashing. She was sick, she was tired, she was annoyed out to hell. She stomped across the house as best she could, being terribly sick, and she glared at the dogs in their pens. They whined back at her.

Feeling that she had shut them up nicely, she turned out of the hallway and into the kitchen. To her utter surprise, a tall white man in a long white trenchcoat stood about five feet in front of her.

_Shit, I'm hallucinating again._

Clarice turned back around and looked in on the dogs. She walked back into the kitchen to find ­_two_ tall white men in long white trenchcoats. She spun in place, closing her eyes and putting a hand to her forehead. She glanced at the bird. There was still one of him. She checked on the dogs. Still two of them. She felt like she was going crazy. Clarice wanted to go back to sleep. This was just too much. And suddenly, an undeniable urge surfaced…  
Cough.  
She coughed and hacked like to spit up her lungs. She only thought about one thing, coughing. She saw the floor and the table, her feet and the hems of her pajama pants. Slowly, however, the world began to turn grey. Grey blotted out all other colors and was swiftly followed by black.

Clarice fell to the floor, limp. Her body still racked with coughing, but her conscious mind had disappeared.  
~@~  
To be sure, we never expected to find this place. The Merovingian gave us an address, he gave us a time, he gave us a name. We showed up, and we got landed with a sick teenager.

At first, we simply phased through the fence, scared the everliving daylights out of the two wolfhounds, and walked in through the back door. There were two _more_ dogs, but we glared them into whimpering submission. Easy enough. Then we made our way to the kitchen. We heard a lame attempt at stomping, so we hid. We didn't see the stomper at first, but when she walked by again, we had stood up. The girl must've thought she was seeing things, because she turned away. She came back, and we stood next to us. This made things worse. She spun around, fell into a fit of coughing, and passed out.

We left her there, coughing away. We dug about through several rooms before we found, quite to our dismay, a student id. The picture held the smiling face of the sick girl and the name matched our assignment. We hate germs.

~MnI~

And so begins the tale of Clarice, named after my beloved, but injured laptop. For some reason, she shall remain sick for the duration of the story, although I myself am feeling much better. Reviews would be like cookie dough. Mmm… cookie dough…


	2. Cafe La Vrai

A/N: Aaand… I have no life. I'm procrastinating on my homework. I'll bet you are too. Glory. And now for the next installment of Fever! 

Kit19: I love cookie dough. I can't think of anything bad about cookie dough. Glad you like this. I kinda did it as a joke… but it keeps me entertained in geometry and chemistry, so…. 

Matrix-Twin1: yeah, like I said, I was sick and I was bored. (I did however neglect to mention the cough medicine that was most definitely involved)

IrishGuy2047: I love you, you leave happy reviews! I could be really gross and have her throw up all over somebody…. But I'm nice, so I won't :P

S Darkness: well what DID you expect? Jw.. and thank you!

Monkeys!: that's a funnie poem. I lost the book several years ago, between houses, ya know? Glad you like it!

I was totally not expecting people to read this…

D/C: As I've mention before, and as everybody knows already, the Matrix does not belong to me. And if it did, you can bet your bottom dollar that the Twins would have more screen time and more lines.

Fever!

We carried the bloody girl to the car, and by the grace of the programmer she didn't sneeze all over us. Wincing, we stuck her in the backseat. As long as the thing didn't sneeze or cough on the seat, we wouldn't kill it. Yet. Whatever the Merovingian wants her for, it better be good. Sick girls are not our business. No. way.

The ride to the airport was pleasantly quiet. We read the paper while we drove. Clarissa or whatever her name was in the backseat was quiet as a mouse. She didn't cough or sneeze once. Thank the gods if there are any.

We were already half way to the chateau when sleeping beauty woke up. Her eyes were this creepy bloodshot colour. We were freaked out.  
~@~  
For some reason, I'm in an airplane sitting across from these two guys I found in my kitchen. IF I had a voice, it wouldn't be so quiet. Then again, I'm dreaming, so… I gotta admit, though, they're kinda cute, in a creepy identical way. I'm going back to sleep.  
~@~  
We cannot believe that anyone's eyes could possibly be so red. We could not even tell what colour they normally were, either.  
~@~  
"We don't like her eyes."

"We don't either."

"Can we believe that she has that much blood? They were pink."

"Yes, we can believe she has that much blood."

"We hope she quits coughing."

"We are going to be infected."

"The Merovingian better get her away fast."

"Sick people are disgusting."

"All those germs…"

The twins shared a shudder. Germs… 

About every five minutes, the sick girl coughed. After another hour, she woke again.

Clarice rubbed her eyes. Yeah, the twin things were still there. They sat in silence for several minutes, staring. Clarice decided to try sign language, something she hadn't bothered to keep up. She had learned sign language in fifth grade for an elective…

She pointed at the men (the sign for 'you') and then she made the sign for 'name'. Of course, they did not understand her. She tried several times before giving up with a huff and crossing her arms. She stared out the window for several minutes.

"What was it trying to say?"

"We don't know."

Indignant, Clarice fixed them both with the most evil look she felt she could muster. Her attempt failed, and the twins fell into peals of laughter. Clarice turned back to the window. The clouds began to disappear. _What a strange dream,_ she thought. With a groan, she stood up and stumbled to the lavatory.

"What's her problem?"

"We could always ask her."

"She can't talk."

"All the more reason to ask her."

When Clarice returned, she found the twins looking at her with the strangest grins. It was nightmarish.

"What's wrong with you?" one asked.

Clarice coughed. To her, that seemed like a logical explanation.

"What? Are you sick?" the other asked.

Clarice felt ready to kill the idiots, but she only nodded.

"That sucks. What do you have?"

Clarice tried to sign out her malady, but she remembered that they did not understand. She only shook her head and looked out the window. She felt the Sandman coming, but she didn't give up the battle just yet.

"Well? What's the matter with you?"

British accents. They ought to have been smart. Instead, they seemed like the biggest idiots in the world. To her, the inability to talk and coughing and being sick logically and obviously meant that she had a sore throat and had lost her voice. She fell to sleep.

"Maybe she lost her voice.."

"Probably. We'll ask her again when she wakes up."

"It'll make her mad."

"It will."

"Good."

~@~

This is ridiculous. Does no one here realize that I'm sick? I'm being marched around and told to sit down and to stand up and it's ridiculous. My only assurance that this is nothing but a dream is the fact that I seem to wind up in random places. First my kitchen, then a plane, and now some fancy shmancy French restaurant. Those twins things are making me walk to this silly dais on one end of the large room. Looking down at myself, I'm still in my pajamas and my ball cap. I look like crap. No-one seems to notice or care. Hello? I'm a sick person? Germs? Anyone? Idiots, all of them. My dreams are getting weirder and weirder… I gotta cut back on the sugar.  
~@~

"Hello, Clarice…" the man at the table said.

_Will people_ ever _stop doing that to me?_ Clarice thought. She only nodded. The twins made her sit down across the table from the psycho Hannibal imitator. He looked nothing like Anthony Hopkins.

"You're wondering why you're here," he said.

Clarice rolled her eyes. _No shit, Sherlock…_

The man had an annoying, smug smile plastered to his face. "My employees," he said, glancing pointedly at the twins, "brought you here becauhse you are going to hehlp me."

_Really?_

"You see, you 'ave a virus, a nahsty virus, at that. A virus created by.moi. This virus will not go avay until I erase it, and I'm not goingg to do zhat until I'm quite certain that you 'ave done your job."

Clarice hated the way his voice rolled up and down the words in an almost singsong way. _Typical villain speech._

"You're pahrents believe zat they 'ave sent you to a boarding school. Grades will be sent 'ome to zhem, and their levelles vill be determined by your cooperasion. All zat you need to do is be sick. Not to hard for you, I 'ope?" he asked. He looked at her expectantly.

Clarice glared fiercely and looked over to the twin things that had been escorting her everywhere. They had moved as far away from her as possible as soon as possible. They were on the opposite end of the dais, cringing in their chairs. _What is their problem?_

"Well, child? Speak up."

Clarice rolled her eyes. She did not want to talk. Her virtually nonexistent voice was a rasp of air that barely formed words. She supposed she could try to whisper, but she could not see that it would do any good.

"Just who exactly _are_ you, frog boy?" she whispered.

"Excuse moi?" The Frenchman was taken aback. He opened his eyes wide with surprise and narrowed them in anger. Then he began to spout French threats or insults back at Clarice.

The lady beside him looked to the ceiling and shook her head, as if to say, "He does this every.single.day."

"Well, who are you?" Clarice retorted.

The Frenchman's eyes bulged. "I am ze Merovingian, dammit! And you, gerl, ahre goingg to hehlp me whezer you want to or not!"

"Breathe you overgrown wart. Why exactly am I sick?"

Ignoring her insult, the Merovingian proceeded to explain the twins. "Vell you see," he said. "Some of my employees ahre, ah, mild hypochondriacs."

"Mild hypochondriacs?" she whispered. "Is that even possible?"

"VELL OBVIOUSLY IT IZ!!"

"Calm down, sheesh…"

"Zhey are terribly skittish of gaerms. Not everayday, oh no you 'ave touched me, now I shall di-ie germs, but oh no you 'ave coughed on me, now I must take eight ahnd a hahlf showers… Understand, gerl?"

"Whatever…" She shook her head. "And which employees might these be?"

"Oh you 'ave already met zhem. Tvins! Escort Miss Clarice to 'er room. And make sure she iz comfertable. Ve don't want 'er running loose."

The Twins stood up and walked over as slowly.as.possible. Carefully they led the way out of the restaurant, one in front and the other behind.

~MnI~

now that I have established the storyline, and insulted the pigheaded nutto, I would like to know if this is too strange… I swear, I won't be too mean to the twinses… It's fun to mock the bestest chars ever! Yaay! 

Oh, and I'm going to reassert my declaration that Clarice is not me. Personally, if I met the Merovingian, I'd be too in awe of the Twins to say anything. And if I met the Twins themselves, I'd probably be like, "Ohmagah… *poke* Can I see your razor? Can you really ghost and all? Are your names really One and Two? Am I dreaming.. or dead?" 

Yeah…. Random, eh? My alterego however would be mean. Muahahahaha…. Until next time…

PS: clarice my laptop, who was injured, is all better now. We loves kyle, the lord of the cave!


	3. Fourposter

A/N: I wrote most of this dialogue in geometry several months ago and began to type it up in history. However, class ended and I soon forgot all about it. Then I started getting a bunch of reviews asking me when I was gonna finish, and if I was, etc. So, here is more fever. hope you're happy. Read and enjoy!

D/C: I rule the Matrix! I am the Queen of the Matrix! Everyone bow down before my might, for I, the Empress of the Matrix, command you! All fear me and despair! *white suits show up* Ah, my loyal minions approach! *sedated* white suit A: Please ignore the broad, she needs a nice rest. white suit B: Go on about your business, and so you know, the Wachoskis are the Lords of the Matrix. white suit C: Don't mind the nutcase, she don't mean no harm; can't control herself sometimes… white suit A: There you are, move along folks… (translation: no I do _not_ own the matrix, and I know that I don't and it depresses me wah)

The four-poster was carved exquisitely from dark mahogany, and spread with deep crimson sheets. Clarice lay with the covers up to her chin, staring at the red canopy for what felt like days upon days. The room was silent. Occasionally one of the Twins flipped a page in a magazine, but other than that the room was devoid of all sound. Barring the rasping of air that was Clarice's breathing. Her throat was sore and scratchy, and when she coughed, it tasted vaguely of cherries. Her nose was so stuffed that she had to breathe through her mouth, and it irritated her. Breathing through her mouth made her throat even sorer. She could still barely talk, and she hadn't eaten since dinner the night before.

The digital clock on the beside table read, "2:45."

"Do you have any soup?" Clarice rasped.

"No," answered on Twin coldly.

Several minutes later, Clarice asked, "Do you have any crackers?"

"No," replied the other Twin, in an equally cold tone.

After a long period of silence, Clarice asked, "Do you have any ginger ale?"

"No," responded the first Twin.

Clarice waited several seconds, and suddenly realized that she wanted something else. "Do you—" she began.

The second Twin snapped, "No! Do we"

"Look like"

"Pantries"

"To you?"

Clarice replied, "No, bu—"

"Then shut up!" snapped the second.

Clarice stared at the canopy again and eventually fell asleep. Ten minutes later, She woke up, bored, and began to wonder if she should ask for something to do. After debating quietly with herself for several minutes, she asked, "Do you have a Playstation or a tv or something?"

"Why?"

"I'm bored."

"Go to sleep," said the first Twin. He was reading GQ and seemed to be in charge.

"I've been asleep!"

"Then go back to sleep," he said, uninterested.

"I've. Been. Asleep." Clarice repeated.

The second twin replied, "It was nice, too."

"We got through," began the first Twin.

"A lot of pages with the silence."

Clarice groaned, but relinquished. She propped herself up with her pillows, keeping herself busy for about five minutes. When she finished, she stared around the room quietly. However, several moments later, she noticed a magazine sitting next to the immature twin, and said, "Can I see that magazine?"

"No," responded the first twin.

"Why not?" Clarice demanded in a whisper. "You aren't reading it!"

He replied, calmly, "You are sick and—"

"all germy! We aren't"

"Bringing it to you."

"Then I'll come and get it," replied Clarice, moving to get out of bed.

"No you won't!" cried the second twin, cringing in his chair.

"Stay over there," commanded the first Twin.

"But I want to read the magazine!" Clarice protested, standing up.

The second Twin crawled farther into his chair, pulling his legs up to his chest. "Keep away, you germ ridden menace!" he shrieked.

"We don't want to get your germs!" the first twin said. 

"You do realize that you're doing exactly what that stupid French dude thinks you will, right?"

"Who cares?"

"Predictability is a sacrifice that…"

"We're willing to make, germy"

"Ugh."

Several minutes later, the silence stretching thin, Clarice finally snapped and declared, "Unh! It's too quiet!" 

The first twin replied sardonically, "Not anymore."

"Can't you just sit there?"

"I'm so bored!" cried Clarice. 

"Be bored in silence." 

Impertinently Clarice began to sing, although it sounded like a horse dying, as her throat was too sore to allow any real sound.

Annoyed, the first twin relented and said, "Give us the magazine." He placed it on the carpet and slid it across the room. "Now shut up!"

Smiling Clarice said, "Thank you."

"Shut up."

"Sheesh." Clarice muttered.

"Shut. Up!" 

Silenced, Clarice climbed back into bed and read the magazine quietly. At the end of one hour, she said, "Good 'zine, got anymore?"

"Shut up."

After several minutes, Clarice sighed, "I'm bored again."

"So what?" asked the second twin.

"I want something to do." Clarice whined.

"So what?"

"Fine," Clarice sighed. 

About ten minutes later, Clarice declared, "I am pretty hungry."

"We don't give a damn," said the first twin.

"Why not," asked Clarice, "aren't you hungry?"

"Shut up!" said the other twin.

"I'm hungry!"

"Good for you," said the first twin, flipping a page of _Good Housekeeping_.

"Shut it germy."

"It's five thirty, what happened to lunch?" asked Clarice.

"There is no lunch," said the second twin.

There was a knock at the door, and it opened. Cain, Abel, and Miro stepped in. 

"Hello boys," said Cain

"Can we leave now?" asked the first twin.

"Nope," replied Abel, smiling.

"We're bringing you guys the essentials," said Miro. "Cots, TV, DVD…you know."

"But we want to leave," whined the second twin.

Miro shrugged, "I can't help you there."

"But," protested the second twin.

"How are we to eat?"

"Table," Cain replied shortly.

"One of the servants will bring food."

"Food?" asked Clarice.

Miro continued, "And we're bringing up the PS2 as soon as we can figure out how to copy it."

"Playstation?" asked Clarice.

"And call me if you want stuff… Books, DVD's, games…"

"Books?" Clarice asked, eyes wide. "Games?"

"Thank you," said the first twin.

"What about our laptops?" asked the second twin.

Abel answered, "We'll see if we can sneak 'em in here."

"Laptops?" asked Clarice.

Miro looked at her feet, "We're sorry you guys have to stay in here."

"It has to suck," Cain agreed.

"But at least you can mess around all day," said Abel with a smile.

"Yes, but—" began the first twin.

"The girl is bloody annoying!"

"Excuse me?" asked Clarice.

"She's always demanding stuff," continued the first twin.

"Well believe me, its not like being bedridden is fun!" defended Clarice.

"And she's germy," added the second twin.

"And that's my fault how?" asked Clarice, annoyed.

"Sorry boys," said Miro. "I guess you're stuck here for a while. The Merovingian ain't too pleased with the anti-germ mindset."

"But germs are gross!" protested the second twin.

"Whatever," sighed Miro. "Bye guys."

"Goodbye," said the first twin while the second whined.

"Books?" asked Clarice. "Games?"

"Shut up," said the first twin.

"Fine," said Clarice.

"Shut. Up."

An hour later, after Clarice had fallen asleep, a servant knocked on the door, saying, "I have your dinner, sirs."

"Good," said One as the door opened. "Can you put it on the table?"

"Yes sir," the servant said as a mahogany appeared.

"Thank you," said One.

"Of course sir," said the servant, leaving.

One, who had switched places with his brother, now looked to the couch and over to the bed, saying, "Wake up."

Two, asleep, mumbled and rolled over, and Clarice snored loudly.

"Wake up!"

Two covered his head with a pillow and mumbled, "Five more mints."

Clarice snored.

"Will we wake up?!" One demanded.

"Anowannagup. Govay." Two muttered, smacking.

Clarice said, rolling over, "Uhh…"

"Wake up!" cried One.

Two rubbed his eyes. "What?"

"PANCAKES!" Clarice shouted, sitting up.

The twins looked at her.

Ignoring them, Clarice asked, "Do I smell food?"

"Yes." Said the first twin.

"Yes!" she began to leap from the bed.

"No!" cried the second twin.

Clarice stopped in midair and fell. "Ow…"

~@~

Two looked to his brother and said, "How is it gonna eat?"

"With a fork," his brother said with a shrug.

"No," Two said. "Without getting us all germy?!"

"Good point," said One.

"I'm hungry," whined the girl from the other side of the room.

"Shut up," said One.

"I'm starving," the girl groaned.

"Silence," commanded Two.

"I'm famished!" she cried.

"Can it!" snapped One.

"Please?" begged the girl.

"I got it!" One declared, snapping his fingers.

~MnI~

and next chapter… what One thought of. Yayness. Please review!


End file.
